


Drifts and Pulls

by shions_heart



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Breathplay, Drabble, Getting Together, Grinding, Jealousy, M/M, Violinist Yahaba, they're in their third year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 08:57:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5284643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shions_heart/pseuds/shions_heart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Yahaba wanted to do was rehearse his violin piece in the quiet sanctuary of an abandoned classroom on Monday afternoon. However a certain ace has other plans that include disturbing his peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drifts and Pulls

**Author's Note:**

> I saw [ this post ](http://ushjima.tumblr.com/post/128769957902/i-love-violinist-yahaba) on Tumblr and was inspired.
> 
> This drabble is dedicated to Rachel (WordsandJank) because it's basically her kink.

The music room is quiet after classes. Light filters in from the large window to warm Yahaba’s back, as he stands before it. He shifts the music sheets on the stand in front of him, arranging them just right so he won’t have to stop to turn the pages. It’s a fairly short piece, but complicated, so after he begins, his concentration is so focused that he doesn’t realize he’s being watched until he hears a loud cough.

He stops playing abruptly, lowering the bow as the echo of sound trails off into a whisper and then nothing. He frowns at the source of the interruption: Kyoutani, standing in the doorway. He’s wearing his uniform, but the shirt is un-tucked and his tie is loose around his collar. There’s a dark scowl on his face, a terrifying expression if it was anyone but Yahaba receiving it. It’s their third year, and the setter knows his ace well enough by now to recognize it as his “confused” scowl.

“What are you doing?” Kyoutani asks.

Yahaba huffs. “Painting roses red,” he answers flippantly, not appreciating stupid questions interrupting his rehearsal time.

Kyoutani’s frown deepens. “Nobody was in the gym,” he says, taking a step inside the room. He rolls his shoulders, glancing over one to the hallway behind him. “The whole place is deserted.”

Yahaba rolls his eyes. “That’s because it’s Monday, and we don’t have practice Mondays, remember? Plus there’s a baseball game today.”

Kyoutani looks back at him, surprised. “It’s already Monday?”

A laugh rises up inside of Yahaba, and he releases it with enough force to shake his entire body, loud and delighted.

“Did you forget what day it is, Kyoutani-kun?” he teases, his laugh fading to a smirk.

Kyoutani’s ears are crimson, and he crosses his arms over his chest tightly.

“Shut up,” he grumbles.

Yahaba shakes his head, still greatly amused by this development. “If you hurry, you might be able to see that pitcher you like play,” he says then lightly. He adjusts the pages on the stand with one finger, surreptitiously watching Kyoutani’s reaction to these words. The tips of his ears glow brighter, as he sputters.

“I _don’t_ —” Kyoutani cuts off, narrowing his eyes.

Yahaba hums softly and turns away, lifting the violin beneath his chin. Kyoutani doesn’t move from his peripheral, and Yahaba tries to ignore him, as he lifts his bow.

“I didn’t know you played the violin,” Kyoutani says suddenly.

The bow screeches across the strings at this outburst, and both young men flinch.

Annoyed, Yahaba turns back to frown at Kyoutani. “Not everyone lives, breathes, and eats volleyball like you do.”

“I don’t eat _volleyballs_ ,” Kyoutani says, and Yahaba is about to despair and explain the definition of a “joke,” when he notices the tiny smirk playing about Kyoutani’s mouth.

Yahaba narrows his eyes slightly. “No, I suppose you prefer consuming baseballs.”

He’s not sure why that came out so bitterly, and he immediately regrets it as the smirk vanishes from Kyoutani’s lips.

“You’re so annoying,” he says flatly.

“Well, _you’re_ a nuisance,” Yahaba replies maturely. He quickly turns to the side again, staring straight ahead. “Go away. I’m trying to rehearse.”

He sets the violin beneath his chin once more, but Kyoutani doesn’t turn to leave. Instead, he sets himself down on one of the desks and grips the edges of it, glowering. Yahaba’s heart begins to pound faster, the traitorous muscle. Trying to ignore the hot, prickling sensation of being watched, he raises his bow and picks up where he left off before Kyoutani decided to stroll in and ruin his otherwise pleasant afternoon.

He doesn’t even know why he’s so bothered. All he knows is that it started a few weeks ago when his ace casually asked if he thought the first pitcher of Aobajousai’s baseball team could beat him at arm wrestling. Yahaba had no idea how strong the guy was and said as much. Then Kyoutani got a strange gleam in his eyes. He didn’t mention the pitcher again, but Yahaba saw Kyoutani talking to a tall, dark-haired and handsome young man in their year after practice that day.

Yahaba told himself not to spy, but he noticed the intense look on Kyoutani’s features, as he listened to his classmate speak. It was the same look he gets when hitting Yahaba’s tosses. So Yahaba’s gut had clenched in dismay. Only a little. It was perfectly understandable. He has a partnership with Kyoutani, and the bond between a setter and his ace is a strong one, naturally. So if Yahaba was gripped with a sudden (brief, very brief) fear that his ace would lose interest in attending practice in favor of hanging out with another boy, well that made perfect sense.

Besides, Kyoutani’s attendance record hasn’t been stellar in the past. So the fact that Yahaba momentarily considered tightening that leash isn’t absurd, is it? Though he will admit to himself that although it’s been a while since he saw that first exchange, Kyoutani hasn’t missed practice once and still plays as hard as always. So Yahaba should be fine now.

Only he isn’t.

Thankfully all these thoughts circling his head don’t affect his playing, and the notes from his violin flow smoothly from the instrument like a creek in the forest surrounded by butterflies and rainbows. It’s that perfectly beautiful. He can still feel Kyoutani’s eyes on him, though, and when he glances over, Yahaba sees that look again. That look full of intensity and _excitement_ and it causes the back of his neck to grow warm. He looks away again, his bow never faltering.

“Stop staring at me,” he says, the music growing louder, as he presses harder against the strings. The melody has climbed to a faster tempo, and the beat of his heat seems to quicken along with it.

“It’s weird.”

Yahaba screeches to a halt, literally. His music has been described as lovely, enchanting, magical even. He knows he’s good and takes great pride in his growth over the years and accomplishments. Never, in his entire life as a violinist, has his playing been called “weird.”

He’s greatly offended.

“ _Excuse me_?” He turns to fix Kyoutani with a hard glare.

Kyoutani looks back at him, that intense light still glowing in his dark, deep-set eyes.

“You look different like this. You’re not all tense and stressed like you are on the court. You’re like,” Kyoutani waves a hand vaguely, before dropping it back to grip the edge of the desk beneath him. “Relaxed. Happy. You’re face is all . . . it’s weird.”

“I’m sorry if my happiness offends you,” Yahaba says stiffly. His chest is twinging. He tries to ignore this too.

“No, that’s not—” Kyoutani frowns, frustrated. “You looked nice. Like that.” The tips of his ears are pink again.

Yahaba stares at them blankly.

“Oh.”

Kyoutani huffs, pushing off the desk. “Sorry for bothering you, I guess.” He scratches behind his ear.

Yahaba follows the movement of his wrist, his chest feeling strangely tight.

Kyoutani moves toward the door. “I’ll just . . . go home then.”

“Not to the game?” Yahaba’s voice comes out strained.

Kyoutani pauses. He gives Yahaba a puzzled frown, his head careening to the side.

“No? I don’t like baseball.”

Yahaba throws his arms in the air wordlessly, careful not to drop his violin and bow.

“ _What_?” Kyoutani is scowling again. It’s adorable, and Yahaba hates himself.

“What about that guy? That pitcher guy? You won’t go just to see him? That’s not very good boyfriend manners, Kyoutani-kun.” _Boyfriend manners?_

Kyoutani recoils. “What the hell? He’s not my boyfriend.”

“But you like him.”

“No, I don’t. I like someone else.”

Yahaba pauses. He stares, as Kyoutani instantly seems to regret his admission. He purses his lips, and his ears are _burning_.

“Who?” Yahaba asks, setting his violin and bow down on a desk beside him. He takes a step forward. Kyoutani steps back. Interesting.

“Who?” Yahaba repeats, stepping closer.

“You sound like a damn owl, you know that?” Kyoutani’s words are sharp, but he continues to back away until he stops abruptly against the wall.

Yahaba continues to advance, until he’s directly in front of Kyoutani. He sets one hand on the wall beside his ace and watches the bob of his throat, the widening of his eyes. Experimentally, Yahaba slowly licks his lips. Kyoutani’s gaze follows the movement of his tongue, and his own lips part. The flush has spread to his neck and cheekbones.

Everything suddenly seems so clear to Yahaba, and he fights the urge to laugh in relief.

“Who do you like, Kyoutani-kun?” he asks, pitching his voice lower.

Kyoutani scowls, having to tilt his head back because of their proximity to meet Yahaba’s gaze. 

“Why the hell does it matter?” his voice is gruff, and he shifts beneath Yahaba’s close scrutiny.

“Because I might like someone too,” Yahaba murmurs, lifting his other hand to lightly stroke the tie of Kyoutani’s uniform, gently working the knot closer to his throat in an attempt to straighten it out.

Kyoutani has grown still at Yahaba’s words. His scowl deepens, his eyes sharp and pinpointed to Yahaba’s face.

“You do?”

Yahaba hums softly, curling his fingers gently around the tie once it’s correctly in place. “I think I was jealous, because it seemed like he liked a certain baseball player, and I didn’t like that. I thought this random guy was going to take my ace away from me.”

Kyoutani’s eyes are dark chasms of curiosity and slight confusion. Yahaba waits for the light to turn on, as he continues to play absently with Kyoutani’s tie. It takes a moment, but then Kyoutani’s eyes brighten as realizations hits him.

“Me? You like _me_?” He sounds incredulous, like he never considered anyone liking him as an option before.

“You’re kind of dense, aren’t you?” Yahaba laughs, shifting closer.

Kyoutani wrinkles his nose, his lips twitching. “You—”

Yahaba cuts him off with a sharp tug on his tie. He jerks Kyoutani closer with it, and all protests die away as Yahaba kisses him hard. It’s awkward at first, teeth clacking and noses bumping, and for a moment Yahaba is afraid he miscalculated, as Kyoutani stands stiffly against him. He’s about to pull away and make an excuse to leave as quickly as possible, when Kyoutani tilts his head at just the right angle for their lips to slide together perfectly. Heat courses through him, tingling across his arms and down his spine. Kyoutani’s lips are surprisingly soft, though they press with bruising force against Yahaba’s. When he opens his mouth, Yahaba tastes his hot breath as he inhales.

It’s like cinnamon, and Yahaba suddenly recalls shoving his own personal stash of cinnamon gum at Kyoutani after he arrived to practice one day with breath that “stank of death.” That was two weeks ago. 

_He’s still using it?_

Kyoutani’s tongue licks into his mouth, a soft and tentative gesture that weakens Yahaba’s knees. He pulls himself out of his memory to meet the tongue with his own. It’s wet and a little strange, but it sends shivers down his spine anyway. Instinctively, Yahaba tightens his grip on Kyoutani’s tie. A soft, strangled noise sounds from Kyoutani’s throat. Yahaba realizes that he’s somewhat choking him and quickly releases the tie, breaking the kiss as he steps back.

“Shit, sorry,” he says apologetically.

Kyoutani opens his eyes slowly. They remain half-lidded, darkened with lust. Yahaba swallows hard, feeling his blood rushing south in response to that look, pooling low in his abdomen. No one has ever looked at him like that before. Then again, Yahaba hasn’t ever really kissed anyone like that before.

“No,” Kyoutani mutters, his face flushed, hands in fists at his sides. “I liked it.”

Yahaba’s eyes widen. This whole situation just keeps getting more and more bizarre. Slowly, he reaches for the tie again, twisting the material around his knuckles before tugging firmly. Kyoutani’s eyes close, and he grunts. It’s a deep, guttural sound, full of obvious pleasure, and Yahaba definitely feels a tightening in his pants.

He quickly descends on Kyoutani’s lips once more, slotting his between them and giving a small suck. At the same time, he gives the tie another yank and swallows up the subsequent moan. Kyoutani’s hands come up to card through Yahaba’s hair, surprisingly tender despite their rough exterior. Yahaba backs them against the wall once more, sliding his leg between Kyoutani’s in an effort to get closer. His chest is broad and firm, and Yahaba can feel the fast beat of his heart matching the swift rhythm of his own.

He’s lost in the sensation of kissing Kyoutani, the warmth, the wetness of it. They lick and bite and suck, each making small, embarrassing noises that neither of them care to hold back. Yahaba continues to tug on the tie intermittently, enjoying the sound of Kyoutani’s strangled groans. He almost doesn’t notice the movement of Kyoutani’s hips until he feels the unmistakable bulge of an erection rubbing against his thigh.

He pulls away with an incredulous laugh. “Are you _humping my leg_?”

Kyoutani stills, his face and neck flushed crimson. “No,” he mutters sulkily.

Yahaba grins. “You totally were! You’re like a horny dog!”

“Shut _up_.” Kyoutani shifts with a scowl, tugging at the tightness of his pants.

Yahaba laughs again, and Kyoutani steps forward with a growl.

“You—”

Yahaba swiftly grabs the tie, and it only takes one gentle pull to make Kyoutani freeze in place. He’s breathing hard, and Yahaba studies him with an appraising look. He’s trembling with need, pupils wide, hands shaking. A quiet whine slips from his parted lips, and Yahaba smiles fondly.

He could get used to this.

Stepping forward, he kisses Kyoutani soft and chaste on the cheek.

“Not here. Bathroom.”

Kyoutani nods quickly, and Yahaba’s heart pulses hot blood through his veins, as he leads Kyoutani out of the music room by the tie in his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> I could've gone further but . . . I was on an airplane and got self-conscious. ;P
> 
> Thankfully, I have a sinpai who was more than willing to take it that one step further. XD 
> 
> You can read a continuation of this in the link below my URL!!
> 
> http://shions-heart.tumblr.com/

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Aftertaste](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5288357) by [knightswatch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightswatch/pseuds/knightswatch)




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